


Trough

by fairylurkanon



Category: Gymnastics RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylurkanon/pseuds/fairylurkanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aly feels defeated after the results from DWTS put her in fourth place again. But a phone conversation with an old friend may have been what she needed all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trough

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No libel is intended.

//

She remembered that feeling before they announced it.

It was like back at Cape Cod when she was young. She could recall the deep scent of the ocean. How it drove swiftly under her nose as the rush of air swept the tides into the land. She sat by the swash, careful to keep herself dry. Her mother had warned her that the waves would come slow, but Aly smiled. She was a daredevil like that.

“You’re going to get yourself wet,” her mother said.

“I’ll be fine!”

She waited until the tide started to rise. Aly would stay until she felt the water hit her feet, and then move away until she’d feel it no more . That’s how she would always beat it. That’s how she always stayed dry.

Soon enough, she had moved too slow. The tide came in without warning. She remembered when she saw it. It was only a small wave, and she hadn’t bothered to move this time. But hidden behind it was a much larger wave. A high crest with a deep trough. She remembered squinting against the sun as the wave eclipsed it momentarily. It was slow but coming fast—too fast.

“Uh oh.”

Seawater crashed into her small body, filling her mouth and eyes. The wave dragged her out before it relinquished its hold on her over the sand. She plopped to her side like a beached animal. She gasped for air, rubbing her eyes with sand-caked hands. The salt burned her throat as she ran back to her mother.

“Oh no, honey. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. It hurts.”

“I know, I know.”

Aly frowned. She was stuck no spare clothes and only a towel to keep her warm. She knew she could have stayed dry if she hadn’t been so stupid. But the wave came too slow and too fast—as the feeling of helplessness and curiosity synced together in perfect chorus. Yet she knew what would come.

That same feeling, she realized, was how she felt when they announced she had placed fourth tonight.

\

Leaving Hollywood was probably the best thing they could have asked her to do.

She had fun while it lasted, but nothing was more glaring than her loss on Dancing With the Stars. The curse could strike elsewhere, apparently.  _Figures_ , she thought. Who would’ve known better than herself?

Yet the feeling came to her like a ghost. The last time it happened was nine months ago.

It was amazing how she still remembered minute details. She came off from her floor final with all the exhilaration of the world. She puffed at the air in exhaustion, the release of tension uncoiling her muscles. Cameras flickered at her every move, but they sounded dull against the enormity of the moment. Red and purple hues hurled her vision, and clouds of chalk hovered the air as flags strew along the walls. It covered the audience in pride and cheer, and they pounded the floor in anticipation. Soon she would receive her score. She knew it would be excruciatingly close to a certain Russian’s. Mustafina had gone before her and Gabby.

She sighed, frowning. Mihai was pacing back and forth some ways off. She saw the Russian coach eying the scoreboard also, but didn’t see the girl with him. As soon as Aly’s eyes left the screen in search of her, a vague sensation stung her nostrils, like salt burning down her throat. Reds and purples faded into sea green, as the wave came slow and fast. The memory lingered like a marble circling off an edge, spiraling into its hole. But a camera flickered beside her, and Mihai pointed at the scoreboard. She turned.

_59.566._

_Same as Aliya’s_ , she thought.

She looked over at her coach for the answer.

“They never explain how tie worked,” the Romanian said. “We must wait to see what judges will do after it is all over.”

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She blinked. She had hoped that they would maybe both get the bronze. But her doubts told her that that’s probably how Nastia felt before she lost her own tiebreaker at Beijing. Déjà vu had struck her—Rotterdam and Tokyo floated about in a far corner. The wave loomed above her. And suddenly Aly grew tense.

Her eyes left the scoreboard and met the Russian girl’s wide-eyed ones. The moment etched itself in Aly’s mind every time she blinked. Her name sat in the 4th place position, right under Mustafina’s. It ceased to move despite her hopes—despite all she’s gone through to come this far. The distant wave crashed into her once more.

“Congratulations,” Aly said, hugging the Russian.

“Thank you,” Aliya breathed, somewhat lost. She wished she hadn’t noticed how broken the Russian’s smile was.

But Aly walked on under blinding lights, through stagnant interviews and pitying consolations. Controversy had been struck, spurred throughout the entire world by tonight’s results. Everyone had been furious. But it paled in comparison to how Aly felt then.

She continued to walk alone. The summer breeze blew needles into her face. She stopped to stoop by the watering fountain, and wished in that moment how it would feel to crawl into the water and swim forever. But instead, she released a shaky sigh. Aly had cried softly to herself that night, before leaving to go on and compete for another day.

Aly opened her eyes, shutting the memory out despite her best attempts. Every once in a while, she felt her phone vibrate, but it was always the same messages.

You’re still my favorite dancer.   


I’m so proud of you.   


You should have won.

She had to roll her eyes at the last one, though. Win or lose, she preferred anything but fourth. The number always managed to creep up on her. No doubt she was happy with her performance—because despite it all, it was a tremendous experience—but her failures mocked her when she had least expected it. She was titanium, but sometimes even titanium could dent.

“Hey,” Mark nudged her shortly after their flight took off, “You did great out there.”

“I knew you were gonna say this,” she said.

“It’s true, Aly. Don’t let what happened tonight change that.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… I wish it didn’t turn out like that, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“I had the same problem in gymnastics.”

“Aly,” he warned.

“Joking, joking.”

He feigned a scowl but smiled nonetheless, patting her knee in understanding. Mark could tease easily whenever she had the chance, but it was only a small comfort. They talked some—though it mostly consisted of Mark trying to soothe her—but sleep eventually overcame him. Despite the long day, Aly could not rest yet. She simply let her head fall back the headrest and sighed again. She closed her eyes—seeing Rotterdam, Tokyo, and London blur into each other for the nth time. Zooming and flying like flies across the wall, and shuttering between moments. It stopped at reds and purples, a podium lit under brilliant lights. She had just congratulated Gabby. She hugged a tearing Viktoria, and then finally Aliya. But the Russian held on, and Aly almost let down her walls. Almost.

After some time, she felt herself grow heavy. Eventually everything faded to black. The hum from the flight to New York was the only sound she heard.

\

Aly stretched back into her chair. Yawning midday, she knew that another nap was in order, but she had a call to make and she promised Aliya weeks ago that she’d do it.

Today was a better time than ever.

She was sitting outside in the patio all alone. She’d left her parents in their hotel room so she would make sure it’d be just the two of them for a good hour or two. Aly logged onto her Skype and touched Aliya’s avatar. She hit video call and waited, but low connection meant they’d have to settle for a regular call instead.

Aly heard a Russian voice, “Alexandra?”

She smiled, “Hey Aliya.”

“So good to hear you again. How are you?”

_I’ve been better_ , she wanted to say. Instead, she shook her head and said, “I’m okay. How about you?”

“Good. My mother’s birthday is today.”

“Really? That’s great. Please tell her happy birthday for me.”

She hadn’t realized how she had completely forgotten her own birthday coming up in the next few days. The thought disheartened her.

“I will. How was dance competition?”

“Okay. I made the finals.”

“That's great! How many there were? You win trophy ball?”

Suddenly, Aly didn’t think this phone call was such a great idea anymore, “We were four couples. I didn’t win.”

“What place?”

Aly bit her lip.  _Nope, absolutely not a great idea_.

But she knew if anything, Aliya was completely clueless to her ordeal. They had never talked about the tie. After all, there was never reason to. She and the Russian had their own unique struggles to get to the top—Aliya with her ACL tear two years ago, and Aly…

Aly was trying to prove herself to everyone, including herself. She was moving out of the shadows of those with higher expectations. Alicia, Jordyn, and then Gabby. Gymnasts, teammates and friends whom she all loved dearly. She had worked as hard as those who had been blessed with the innate ability to wow judges with near-perfect programs.

Gymnasts like Aliya.

The girl took the gymnastics world by storm during Worlds years ago. Even with her form issues, she was still feared by many. Swan-Lake graceful, but a tsunami behind the beauty. Movements that could sway even legends, allowing witness to the power in her skills. One look from her could waver even the most confident. Including Aly. Sweeping the competition at Rotterdam was just the beginning. Aliya Mustafina was unstoppable.

But then her form issues caught up to her at Euros, and she tore her ACL. It was all over for the Russian star. Or so it seemed.

She remembered seeing a special on some of the Russian gymnasts. She knew Aliya was climbing to get back to the top again, even though the entire world had dismissed her as a threat to the podium. But Aliya would not falter. She wobbled off the beam and slammed into the ground—still, she got up. The rigorous training took a toll on her, and the pain was evident on her face—still, she kept going. That was when Aly knew that somewhere on the other side of the world, there was someone fighting just like her.

There was no reason to hesitate then.

“Fourth,” Aly said.

The line was quiet, save for soft static.  _I guess there was a reason after all_ , she mused.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Aly tapped her fingers against the glassy counter.

“I don’t see dance yet but I want to.”

“It’s okay, Aliya. You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I want to see you dance.”

She sighed, “If you want to, I guess.”

Another pause.

“Aly, you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sound  _not_ okay. You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Aly.”

“ _I’m not mad._ ”

Quiet. She could practically hear Aliya’s feelings crackle over the static. Aly mentally smacked herself. This was not how she wanted to deal with this.

“Sorry,” the girl said.

 “No, I’m sorry,” Aly said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Snap?”

“Nevermind.”

_So much for a wonderful conversation with a friend._  Aly figured it’d be best to change the subject now before it got worst.  _Well, as if it couldn’t get any worse_.  _Talking about fourth place matters wasn’t about to happen with Aliya, of all people. It was a stupid idea_. She was about to move on when there was noise over the line. But nothing from the other girl.

“Uh, Aliya?”

There was shuffling over the Russian’s microphone.

“Try video call now.”

“Huh?”

“Video.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

Aly hung up, then tapped the video call option. The black rectangle that was the video feed sat warily.  Finally, a familiar face lit up the low-quality feed, soft eyes and all. The Russian, sleep worn but still pampered with leftover make-up—probably from celebrating—was peering at her screen from a dark lit room. The girl smiled widely and Aly couldn’t help but reciprocate. It was definitely nice to see her again. But Aliya did not hesitate.

“Aly,” she started. “You remember all-around in London?”

Aly nodded. “Of course.”

“When we both place third?”

“Aliya,  _you_ were third. I was fourth.”

“No,” she said. “We both third. We both get same score. So we both bronze.”

“The rules said that you won—”

The girl shook her head. “Rules are stupid. Rules do not understand hard work. They not understand dedication. Or tears, or injuries, or anything. They not understand that you are great gymnast.”

“Aliya…”

The Russian smiled.

“Your country is proud of you. So many are proud. Never forget this. You do not win dance competition and you do not win many things so inside, you do not feel good enough. But you,” she pointed directly at the camera—at Aly, “you are good enough to me.”

The feed stilled. Aly could only gape. In that moment, she could only reflect on the waves of Cape Cod. They had taken her for a ride, and pushed her back into the sand, disheveled. Suddenly, the sun was freed from its eclipse and shone again. Like it always had.

There were few who saw Aly as she was. Not as Olympic Champion Aly, or Reliable Raisman, or even Party Raisman—but just Aly. Existing to find happiness, falling when it is not found. Sometimes, we turn up in a slump and then lose ourselves momentarily. But humans are never quite alone in their endeavors. It takes another to realize that that is never true. Today, Aly found out that comfort in Aliya.

“Thank you, Aliya. I don’t really know what to say.”

“Because it is true,” she said. “Even when you do not point toes.”

Aly laughed— _really_ laughed. In what felt like days compared to hours. She shook her head. "Always have to bring that up."

Aliya grinned. "Always."

There once was a man who said this: nobody is ever really alone. Sometimes we coexist to take care of each other. So fourth place for the fourth time sucked. But Aly was glad to have others along the journey. And the journey was definitely worth it.

"Let's not get started on your helicopter legs, okay champ?"

The other girl frowned. "We do not talk about that, American."

Aly giggled. "I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

"Eh, I try very hard." Aliya smirked, then softened. "Is early. But happy birthday, Aly." 

She smiled. The waves settled back. They could come another day, but not today.

//


End file.
